


Heat

by maydei



Series: Nine!verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Fluff and Angst, Hell, M/M, Nine!verse, Present Tense, Sam 'Boy King of Hell' Winchester, True Form Angels, Vessels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydei/pseuds/maydei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell is very, very hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Have some angsty Samifer with a dash of fluff.
> 
> This fits in the timeline when MALS were stuck in Hell: aka, how the angels got their vessels. Kind of. I didn't have the attention span to elaborate.

Hell is very, very hot.

Sam remembers the heat, how it was excruciating to the unprotected soul, akin to setting fire to a raw nerve. To his body, it's simply hot—very much so. He probably shouldn't be able to withstand it; sometimes he thinks he can't.

Then he remembers being in the Impala when the air conditioning is busted. In July. In _Texas._

Comparatively, it's not _all_ that bad.

He knows it's worse for Adam; Adam, who's spent centuries or millennia down here by now, Adam, who's still recovering from having his mind put back together bit-by-bit by an archangel's Grace—a decidedly indelicate process. There again, Michael's not the most delicate of beings on his best day; this heat is bad enough for him. Michael's Grace is open and raw and unprotected, but Michael, as he has told Sam, is an angel accustomed to fire. The heat is unpleasant, but not unbearable.

For Lucifer, the heat is crushing.

Where Michael is made of fire, Lucifer is made of ice; like ice, he is failing in face of the warmth. The Cage, he's said, was not pleasant, but kept him alive—made to keep him alive forever (as he would under normal circumstances), even in Hell. Without that protection, Lucifer's light is starting to dim.

Sam knows he would rather die than admit it, but Lucifer is in agony; knows it the same way he knows that Michael is worried.

Knows it the same way he knows that he can't watch Lucifer die down here while they search for an escape, never to feel the mercy of his beloved Earth ever again.

Hell wasn't meant to carry one alive being, let alone two—but Sam and Adam (even as much as he protests) are Winchesters, and if anyone were to be stuck in Hell alive and actually _live_ , it would be them. _So_ , Sam reasons, _two more lifeforms—what could it hurt?_ With all of Hell at his command, it isn't hard for him to find the knowledge hidden in fire and rock and sulfur. With Lucifer broken free, his (pained, suffering, _dying_ ) consciousness at the back of Sam's mind, translating the Enochian and making sense of the ritual isn't impossible, either.

When Lucifer figures out what Sam and Adam are up to, he's _furious_.

“ _You will not,_ ” he commands, True Voice faltering.

“I'll do what I want,” Sam replies, and he means it.

“I refuse to cooperate.”

Sam stares at him, at the great creature with six vast wings and four vicious faces, two arms and two legs that can barely be called such. He stares into the heart of that creature and sees the pulsing of light becoming feeble and slow. “You're dying.”

Lucifer has nothing to say to this. Michael, at least, retains the strength to keep himself _looking_ like a man; Lucifer has lost even that, bursting forth into his True Form one day and unable to revert, nearly ruining Sam and half of Hell in an explosion of brutalized Grace.

“You'll cooperate,” Sam says eventually, convinced of this. “You don't want to die.”

“Of course I don't,” Lucifer snaps, but with his True Voice weak as it is, Sam is hardly threatened.

“We're agreed, then,” Sam replies, dismissive. “You don't want to die; I don't want to watch you die. It's not like you could stop me.”

“You will not succeed in this, Sam,” says Lucifer.

“We'll see,” says Sam.

Sam is still human, and so is Adam, and the two must sleep. Sleep is one of the few things they need that they can achieve in Hell; they partake of it to their hearts' content, often curled back-to-back, the contact assuring both that they remain in good company. When Sam wakes next, though, it's to conversation, muffled Enochian translated in the back of his tired mind:

“Are you really going to do this?” Michael demands, though quietly.

“It's none of your concern,” replies Lucifer.

“Lucifer, if what Sam says is true, you are the last of our brothers. Gabriel and Raphael are gone; only you and I remain.”

“And whose fault is that?” Lucifer snaps, voice spilling cruelty and self-loathing in the same breath. “It certainly isn't yours.”

“Nor is it entirely yours,” Michael says. “In a just world, our Father would not have favorites; if he would save one, he would save all. There would be no evil, not inside of our hearts or the hearts of the humans.”

“Have care, Michael; you may become me, yet.”

“We are already the same, Lucifer. It has taken us this long to be able to stand together without seeking fratricide—why would you choose to die now? Why would you refuse help from those that wish nothing in return?” Lucifer says nothing, but there must be something about him that Michael reads truly. “Lucifer, if you are free, it is because God has willed it. Please, _please_ do not deny His mercy.”

“Is it because God wishes it,” Lucifer starts bitterly. “Or because Sam Winchester wishes it?”

“Samuel Winchester—is that what this is about?” Michael asks.

“He and I had a deal; if he won, this would be my place to remain.”

“An excuse, and a paltry one at that,” Michael says. “Speak truth. The ritual; is that what you fear?”

Lucifer hisses, angry and pained, before he says, “His _soul_ , Michael.”

Michael scoffs, exasperated. “He gives it freely, brother.”

“And he knows not what he gives,” Lucifer insists. “Would you allow Adam to give himself to you?”

“If he has offered, I would, and he _has_. So has Sam offered himself to you.”

“I don't want it.”

“Don't you? Or do you simply want it too much?”

Lucifer is silent.

Michael continues, “If that is your reason for refusing, then you are a fool. The ritual cannot be completed unless the mind is clear of doubt. The sacrifice must be given of free will; you know the rites. Be _honored_ , Lucifer. Accept what he would give, and accept it gladly—if he would give his flesh and blood and soul for you to walk free again, it would dishonor his sacrifice to refuse him on the grounds of your pride being impinged upon.”

“My pride has no place in this.”

“Your pride always has a place.”

“Be silent.”

“I will not. If it isn't your pride, then tell me—what is it that makes you deny him still?”

Again, Lucifer is silent, and the silence stretches.

Michael sighs. “Brother, you love too much.”

Lucifer scoffs. “You are a sentimental fool.”

“What else would you have me believe?”

Silence, again.

“I don't ask for a confession; I know you're not of the sort. But if you are so eager to rid yourself of your life, why not give it to one that would cherish it while it lasts?”

“He would not,” Lucifer says. “And why would he? The Cage made me his would-be torturer.”

“And still he offers himself to you,” Michael reminds him. “Brother, I beg. Let Sam save you. Do not return me home an only child.”

“Such words,” he scoffs. “And such dramatics. So quickly all forget from whom I learned my ways.”

“You may have learned from me, but you perfected them on your own,” Michael replies. “Please consider it, Lucifer. Know that I mean it truly; I cannot return to Heaven and hope to heal it without help; you can offer a new perspective. Things can _change_ , but only if you give them the chance. There is much we both can learn from the thrice-saved angel.”

Lucifer is silent, but the silence remains. The conversation is over, it seems. Sam thinks hard on what he has heard, but falls back into sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The ritual is completed; Sam pretends he doesn't know why when Lucifer finally gives in.

In tandem, Sam and Adam speak the ancient words and offer what is needed—blood, flesh, and soul. It hurts far more than either expect to separate a portion of the living human spirit, but both give without doubt or fear or regret.

Grace is set alight, and ancient magic builds from what is offered—for Lucifer, an echo of Nick; for Michael, a curly-haired brunette, fair of skin and with eyes like steel. _A favored vessel from long ago_ , he says, but looks at his newly-made hands like he has never seen them before. He doesn't linger long; instead, he tends to Adam, who is nearly unconscious from the strain of the sacrifice. Michael brushes blonde hair back from Adam's clammy forehead, tending to him with endless patience and care, lifting Adam into his arms and murmuring words of thanks and praise as he searches out a more comfortable place for the human to rest.

Sam stumbles, bleary-eyed and exhausted; Lucifer does not allow him to fall and instead lowers them both to the ground, letting Sam lean back into his chest, head lolling back onto Lucifer's shoulder.

“Sleep,” Lucifer says, arms hesitantly encircling Sam's waist.

Sam makes a tired noise of agreement, but first finds the incredible strength required to lift one arm and pull Lucifer to him, their mouths meeting in something nearly too clumsy to be called a kiss at all.

Sam is fading before Lucifer can question him, and drifts off with his head cradled in the dip of Lucifer's shoulder, one strong arm holding him upright, one hand laid flat over Sam's beating heart.

 

 

 

 


End file.
